Under Wraps
by Trish47
Summary: After the lightsaber splits, Kylo wakes up first. He escapes with Rey on Snoke's shuttle, though he could never imagine what that decision will lead them to discover about one another. / Canon Divergence after the throne room scene. Alternating POVs. Chap 1/8. T will bump to M in later chapters.
1. Curiosity Stings

**Notes:** This work is complete and will be updated every Wednesday / Sunday until posted in full. Thank you to Phoenix and Melodee for helping me come up with this fic and for being my betas. Many kudos and thanks to you both.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Star Wars or any of its characters. I am not profiting from this fic other than my own validation and writing pleasure.

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 **One: Curiosity Stings**

His body hurtles through the air like an insect swatted away by a giant hand. The air around him vibrates with the twang of broken tension, a snapped cord resonating with waves of sound. He can still hear the kyber crystal's mournful wail in his mind, its lamentation boring into his bones.

 _Discord. Disgrace. Dishonor._

The cries are silenced when he hits the floor, tumbling to a stop halfway across the room. If the concussive force of the detonation is enough to send him careening this distance, he can only imagine how far it's flung her slim body.

Rey's body.

Shaking off the jar of the impact, Kylo presses to his knees. Every muscle trembles. Sweat plasters his hair across his forehead, curtains it in front of his eyes. Even with the obstruction, he sees Rey across the throne room, dangerously close to the edge of the platform. Her limbs rest at odd angles, unmoving.

Before he can stand, a roaring white light tears across the red ceiling, cleaving it apart like meat from bone. Momentarily blinded, he gropes the air for stability, seeking balance.

There isn't time to hypothesize the cause of the disturbance or estimate the damage. Cosmic forces scream with catastrophe as he wobbles to a standing position, keeping his knees bent to brace against the roll of chain explosions rumbling beneath his feet.

Whatever has happened, the _Supremacy_ is doomed. Only the airlock keeps the throne room from bleeding oxygen in a geyser, though Kylo knows it's siphoning off in alarming streams.

He can't stay, but there's something he won't leave without.

His feet pick their way over carnage and rubble, gravitating toward Rey's body without thought. A few feet from her, he sees the broken saber and retrieves it. Debris falls in a metallic, fiery shower. A piece of unidentifiable shrapnel - double the scavenger's size and ten times her weight - plummets toward her prone form. Hardly blinking, Kylo raises his hand and pushes against the waves of energy streaking around the object, shoving it away to slam against the far wall.

He slides to her on his knees, hunching over her unconscious body in a protective umbrella. A sweeping glance catalogues her visible injuries - blood on her forehead, a burn on her arm - both minor, thank the Force.

His relief shocks him like icy water. _Why should I care?_

He should want her dead, at the very least in chains and awaiting an execution for crimes against the First Order. She rejected his plea to join him, refused his offer to rule over something new and grand. He should want to be the cause of her destruction. Not her salvation.

 _It ends here_.

"Not like this," he declares to the vicious voice inside his mind, an echo of his dead master's ingrained training.

Kylo carefully worms his arms beneath her warm, pliant body, drawing her into his chest. Her slight weight is familiar, and he hefts her up with ease, keeping her cradled snuggly against him.

Now it's a question of escape. He prays Snoke's shuttle survived as he strides toward the hangar.

From the outside, everything appears intact. He boards the craft and places Rey on a bunk in the main cabin before making his way to the cockpit to check that all of the systems are operational. A black, spherical astromech meets him at the door, scanning his face to run against its facial recognition protocol.

Even as Kylo awaits approval, he delivers his orders: "See to the girl. Scan for biomalfunctions. Repair what you can."

He knows the droid has limited capabilities when it comes to human injuries; its primary purpose is maintenance and security of the shuttle. Still, it scoots off to satisfy the command with a low, affirmative whistle.

Kylo races through the launch sequence, scrambling to lift off before the hangar crumbles around them. He manages to steer the ship through the debris field with only mild interference and a few alarm indicators blinking to life on the control board. Once he's past the wreckage, he jets off into empty space, creating as much distance as he can from the battleground and the rebel planet beyond.

Before engaging the autopilot, Kylo disables the onboard tracker. It should have been the first thing he did, and he swears under his breath for his lack of forethought.

Rey is still unconscious when he exits the cockpit and perches on the side of the bunk to look her over. To his pleasure, the droid managed to close the small cut above her brow bone. The blood there is still damp to the touch, the skin beneath it marbling in shades of blue and purple.

Leaning over her, he encounters the strangely-shaped laceration she suffered during their battle with the Praetorian guards on her right arm. With all that happened after the melee ended, the fight for their lives feels more like a memory than the reason his pulse hasn't quieted or why the salt of sweat stings his eyes.

She'd fought well. Perhaps Rey hadn't emerged unscathed, but she'd held her own - for someone who lacked proper training, at least.

 _She saved your life_ , a stern voice reminds him. It's softer than the echo, familiar somehow - a voice from his past.

"Only because she thought I would turn," he murmurs as his gloved fingers brush against the area below the cauterized wound. "As if it were easy."

 _Maybe it is_.

Kylo dismisses the nagging voice and distracts himself by fingering the untucked end of her arm wrap. He means to secure it in place, but his curiosity tugs at the linen instead. The top coils give way, sliding down to expose her bicep.

He doesn't expect the dark marks lurking beneath, inked into her skin.

Nor does he expect her eyes to snap open.

He's inches from her face when they widen on an inhale. She finishes the same breath with narrowed eyes and a fist curving between them, headed for his face. Kylo flinches enough for her to miss his jaw, but his nose takes the full force of her punch.

He feels the pop of cracking cartilage, then the rush of hot blood gushing from his nostrils. Kylo whips his head back, clutching at the bleeding orifice while emitting a string of snarled _kriffs_.

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 **Reviews, including gentle concrit, are appreciated. Thank you for reading!**


	2. Juxtaposition

**Thank you for the warm response on the first chapter. Here's the first look at Rey's side.**

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 **Two: Juxtaposition**

Her body swims in contradictions: the surface beneath her should be the hard durasteel of Snoke's throne room floor, not a soft mattress; the air should smolder with char and singe her lungs, not cleanse them with the faint odor of polish and metal; the ship's engine needs to roar with escape in mind, not hum in idleness.

When did everything go sideways?

Rey's thoughts clash with as much force as the sensations flowing into her waking consciousness. Mild anxiety gnaws her mind - not enough to title it fear, but still pricking her depleted adrenaline stores enough to rouse her quickly.

Grumbled curses reach her ears. They carry no heat, no substance. Are they coming from his lips or have they been channeled through their connection? It's too much to ponder.

Her knuckles radiate their anger at meeting his nose unannounced; her fingers flex to distribute the pain, to spread it through her hand until the complaint becomes a tolerable throb.

The light of the cabin bothers her eyes. The hollow wells behind them pound out a protest when she swings her legs to the side of the cot and explode with pinpricks of color when she stands upright.

Gripping the frame of the bunk, Rey squints out her surroundings. Her throat scratches with a question: "Where are we?"

It's not precisely what she wants to ask. Her teeth grind together, trying to work the cogs of her jumbled, displaced thoughts back in proper order, to remember. Chronology proves difficult to calculate when pieces of time are dark and empty.

A shadow shades her face as he - a contradiction who walks - bends forward. His closeness oppresses her like a blanket on a warm night, yet it dims the light enough to allow Rey to open her eyes fully. Her gaze hazards up to his face in steps. Bright red stains the bow of his lips, the jut of his chin; a smear of transferred blood paints his cheek.

"We're aboard Snoke's shuttle." His long fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, pulling down straight as if he can reset the crooked line without the help of a class one droid. "There's no danger here."

A small huff of doubt carries her thoughts about that statement.

He appends: "For one of us, at least."

It's a joke.

After everything that's happened - after their struggle to survive defending each other; after their tug-of-war over the saber - he's standing in front of her with a smile in his eyes and a pained grimace on his lips? _How_?

It's all wrong. Upside-down. Their battle concluded with each on opposite sides of an invisible, unyielding line. Their separate causes faded back into their thoughts, reminding them of where they stand. She shouldn't be alone with him on a shuttle, as if he's rescued her, like they're running away together.

The second idea shouldn't hold any appeal. It didn't with Finn at Maz's cantina. So why does it now?

She sways in the same way her mind shifts from thought to thought. "What happened?"

Again it's not what she wants to say. The automated question is insufficient, but her tongue can't seem to mold the right words.

"It seems your beloved rebels destroyed the _Supremacy_." His vice-like voice squeezes out the admission, but Rey picks out a hint of a warmer tone underneath his disbelief. "They've escaped."

Lightheadedness fills her as she inflates with dizzying joy. This time, her grasp on the bunk isn't enough to keep her steady. Slanting hard to the right, her knees begin to buckle with the weight of her tears and relief.

His left hand burns an imprint on her right arm when he catches her and lowers her to the cot. Skin-to-skin, the sensation makes her twist away with a gasp. Where is her wrap? For years she's used them to avoid the scorch of blazing metal from ships baking in the Jakku sun and to guard against the searing judgments of curious eyes.

She crosses her arms against a sudden, imagined chill that requires her to huddle for warmth. The pleasure of learning her friends might be alive drains away, replaced with dread. _My tattoos: has he seen them?_ Of course he has. _Does he know?_

"Rey?"

Pretending nothing is wrong, like there's nothing to hide, Rey shakes her head and finally jostles free the question she's wanted to ask all along: "And us? Where do we stand?"

His voice softens as he drops to one knee and peers up at her face. "Somewhere between enemies and allies."

A tenuous line to walk. Suspended over the chasm of war, how long can they balance before they fall?

"How do you feel?"

Surely an enemy wouldn't care enough to ask?

Her puzzled lips slant upward as she swipes away the lingering tears from her eyes. His serious expression almost makes her laugh. A slender finger wags in the general direction of his face. "You're the one who's bleeding."

"Mmm," he returns in a low, agreeable hum. His own eyes light with a hint of mirth.

The back of his hand reaches up to stroke the area above her left brow. It stings, but only a little. On their own accord, Rey's eyes flutter shut at the caress.

Surely allies don't touch like this.

"Sometimes the wounds we can't see are the most dangerous." Her eyes open to find unexpected empathy reflected back at her. He's not talking about simple surface wounds any longer. "The most painful."

His eyes fall to the arms resting limply in her lap, to the exposed lines that have bled part of herself onto the sands of Jakku. She fights the urge to clutch at the bare skin, to slap him for his intrusive gaze and re-crack the cartilage beneath the rapid swelling around his nose, to run away from a conversation she doesn't ever wish to start.

She squelches two of the three impulses.

"Where are you going?"

Rey ignores his alarm - and the ringing in her ears - as she pushes past him and storms toward the cockpit. "I'm turning this ship around."

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 **Reviews, including gentle concrit, are appreciated. Thank you for reading!**

 **The next update will be on Wednesday.**


	3. Marks

**Three: Marks**

A dark sphere barrels past him, a high-pitched _whizzing_ accompanying the blur in Kylo's vision. There's no time to call out a warning, to stop Rey before the droid's security protocols activate. He throws up a hand, thinking he can reach out and freeze the shot from the stun blaster midair, but everything happens so quickly he can't channel his energy into action. If he gets it wrong, he could end up hurting her.

The electric bolt lands just above her hips, dead center on her spine. Rey cries out, pitching forward as her back arcs and her knees buckle. She goes down with a hard thud on the metal grating, her outstretched arms doing little to brace her.

The droid's shrill, alarmed chirruping rings in his ears. Kylo clutches his fingers together in a merciless grip of the Force surrounding the black astromech. Unbridled rage shoots through his thoughts and feeds through his fingers. Metal grinds against metal in a satisfying death-screech until Kylo is the only thing left moving in the cabin.

 _This isn't how it was supposed to be_ , he thinks as he steps forward to scoop Rey up once more.

He places her face down on the cot with care. The spot on her back will undoubtedly sting when she wakes up, but the recovery time should be far shorter. Gently, he repositions her head on the pillow and brushes the loose hairs from around her face. Comforted by the steady breath condensing on his glove, Kylo heads toward the 'fresher.

It takes only a moment for him to wipe the blood from his lip and chin. There's nothing he can do for the swelling. Rey's mean uppercut is a new, unexpectedly charming, discovery. If it didn't hurt so much to smile, he might sneak a full grin while he's alone. Instead, he shakes his head, then plucks his blood-stained gloves from his fingers.

She's still out cold when he returns to the cabin and sits beside her. Trailing down the side of the cot, her wrap hangs loosely from her wrist. He runs one hand under the material, lifting her arm with the other. Slowly, he twines the wrap around her arm, covering up the tattoos he had no right to see but can't unsee either. It takes him several attempts to get the tension right; by the time she stirs, he's secured the band once again.

A restless movement of her hips is the first sign she's waking. They rock from side to side, trying to shake off the sting of the stun bolt. Kylo pulls back. He doesn't wish to add a bloody lip or a black eye to his collection of scavenger souvenirs.

She rolls to her side, then lays flat on her back. Unsatisfied, Rey's upper body curls, starting to sit up properly. His hand pushes against her clavicle to stall her hastiness. "Easy."

Rolling her shoulder, she shrugs him off and ignores his suggestion. She folds at the waist, cringing at a pain he can faintly feel. A slender arm curves around to press at the tenderness along the base of her spine.

"You shot me?"

It stings that he can't rebuke the accusation; given the way things ended in Snoke's throne room, he understands why it's a valid question. Even so, he rolls his jaw. "Only approved personnel can access the cockpit. You weren't coded in the droid's data."

Several blinks stand in place of her response, eyes seeking to confirm his words. His chest tightens when he senses they've landed on the crumpled remnants of metal in the corner of the cabin. Does it bother her? The destruction which follows him like a shadow?

Her gaze returns to his face, assessing him. Kylo is sure he's washed away all of the blood from his face, yet her discerning eyes make him doubt his thoroughness. Self-conscious under her stare, he touches the bridge of his nose gingerly with the pads of his fingers. "Is this how scavengers express gratitude?"

Her response is flippant, although color tints her cheeks. "You deserved it."

An eyebrow tweaks. "It's hardly the token of appreciation I expected for saving your life."

"You shouldn't have done that."

He can sense her embarrassment and something else: anger. Kylo's taken aback by the latter. "You'd have been incarcerated. Or worse. Would you rather I had left you?"

She looks away, staring at the wall instead of looking at him. Her voice is small when she admits, "I would've left you."

"I see."

What else is there to say? Fleeing would be the only logical choice, yet her statement clamps down in a harsh bite of betrayal. Abandoned - that's how she would have left him.

 _Not dead,_ he observes _, but alone._

Shifting again, Rey bends her knees into her chest, snaking her arms under her legs and resting her face against them. Her eyes lock on to his, soft and glistening. "Do you know what they are?" she asks, clasping her hand over the band around her bicep. "Did you see them like you saw my parents?"

Rey works through the tears in her voice like she did the night she opened up to him in her hut. It's humbling, the trust she grants him when confessing her fears. Kylo has difficulty believing Rey would have abandoned him in malice when she speaks to him like he's her only confidant. He can hear the care in her tone. . .his opinion matters to her.

It isn't a responsibility he can bear lightly.

If he saw them in his vision, it was only in passing - a glimpse of something he held unremarkable when viewing the bigger picture of a child left alone on a harsh planet, left to fend for herself amidst an unforgiving landscape. The lines on her arms had surprised him when he'd unwrapped them earlier, only needing a brief glance to identify them.

There's no mistaking the marks of a slave.

They both know what the tattoos signify, so he feels no need to state the obvious. Instead, he calls them what they are: "They're a sign of your past. Nothing more."

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 **I understand that this reveal into Rey's past isn't everyone's cup of tea. If you opt out, thanks for reading this far. If you stick around, Rey's update will be posted on Sunday. Thanks!**


	4. Debts

**Weird to think we're already halfway through.**

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 **Four: Debts**

"Leave your ghosts to rot with their corpses."

Rey's eyes lock with his. His clipped words attempt to cut the strings tying her to a past he feels she should destroy. Care wields the shears in a delicate clasp, in the gentleness of his voice, but the sharp gaze fixed on her slices like a blade.

She will not be rendered apart. She will not unfurl in ribbons.

Rey inhales deeply, holding on to the air for as long as she can before releasing it on a shaky breath. _Compose or combust,_ she recites to herself. It's a mantra that's helped her out of sticky situations more than once.

She picks at the woven threads which fray at the end of her right wrap. What does he think of the marks he's uncovered? Can she open herself up to him? How will his perception of her change once he knows the full story?

On Jakku, and in the Blobfish's eyes, Rey had not been a person, but property - only as good as what she could salvage, only as valuable as the profits she accrued. Using her quick mind and taking advantage of what luck came her way, Rey had proven her worth to the junk trader and the other scavengers.

 _Maybe if he knew what he was asking me to forget. . ._ she thinks, deciding.

Tugging at the stiff fabric, Rey pulls it down until the two thickest bands encircling her bicep show: principle and interest. The top ring, as thick as her thumb, is the color of rust. The one underneath, just a hair thinner, is a dusty sepia. Over time, the lines have stretched and faded, the lack of expertise in their application more than noticeable. Then again, she hadn't been a very willing recipient at the time.

Rey touches the tattoos, contemplating her words. "The sum my parents bartered for me was branded on my arm the day they flew off."

She swore she wouldn't, yet the tears appear despite her wishes. When she casts her eyes over his face, she sees that water glasses his expression too.

"You were a child." His voice is low, infuriated.

A flare of his rage licks up the curve of her ears, leaving them red. Rey can't stop her hand from tearing away the rest of the linen, exposing every line beneath. She needs to share the whole story, to give him resolution. "Every year, the tallies were marked," she explains.

More than the etchings she'd made in her AT-AT, the rings on her arms reminded her of how many years had passed. Her debt collector never missed a due date: Unkar had been nothing if not punctual.

"It was hard to salvage enough for portions," Rey goes on, "let alone pay off a debt. There were limited ways for a person to earn credits."

Fear spikes in her chest, corresponding with his panicked thoughts. His mind cycles through images of her: scared and alone and unclothed. His panic ebbs into anger as he visualizes hands reaching for her from dark corners. The upsetting imaginations float unwanted in her mind.

Her hands close over his fists where they strangle the sheet, clawing crescent moons into his skin. The brief violence cuts off the offensive inaccuracies he's picturing, though she understands why Kylo would leap to such conclusions.

She corrects his assumption: "I learned to repair ships to earn extra."

The breath he releases disturbs the wisps of hair framing her face. Relief washes over him in a way the Force makes tangible for her.

His hands turn underneath hers, resting palm-to-palm. Free of the unwelcome thoughts, he assesses the rings again, especially those circling her wrist. Rey knows why they've caught his attention. While the others steadily decrease in size, scaling down as she'd chipped away at her debt, these are just as thick as the ones she started with.

"What happened here?" he asks, his thumb rubbing over the area.

Her body turns traitor at the motion. Small bumps erupt over her flesh, hairs prickling at the electric sensation of his touch.

Rey jerks away, but it's too late: curious amber eyes are already darting back and forth between her arm and the nervous way she's biting her lip.

She tries to play off the recoil and circles her fingers around her wrist, twisting them as if she can scrub away the ink. "Jakku is rife with danger. One careless step can kill you," Rey illustrates without revealing the whole story; the lesson she learned years ago still haunts her. "I survived, but I couldn't haul any scrap for months. I needed a loan."

She had fallen into the cycle that had claimed so many other scavengers: working themselves to the bone, endlessly hungry, trying to buy back their freedom, believing they could. . .only to have it ripped away because of an accident or illness. Jakku ate the weak.

In some small way, she supposes Unkar's generosity had saved her, even if it meant crushing her with debt. He'd wanted to break her, to show her she'd never crawl out from under the shadow of his trade stand.

The Blobfish had underestimated the depth of her stubborn streak. "After that, I was more determined than ever to pay back my price," Rey continues.

She yanks on the tie of her left arm wrap, uncoiling the cloth in rapid time. These tattoos are mismatched with those on her right; they start out just as thick but quickly thin. The saturation is deeper, the lines less jagged. The sepia-colored rings fade with each tally, disappearing completely before they reach her elbow. The rust-colored lines that continue after are so thin they almost look like bracelets.

Halfway to her wrist, the lines vanish altogether.

"You succeeded."

She smiles at the pride in his voice, but it falters when she remembers the bittersweet moment Unkar closed out her account.

"Nothing changed," she mutters, pinching her fingers together in agitation. "I had my freedom, but I was still stuck on Jakku, still trading for rations, still just surviving."


	5. Resilience

**Five: Resilience**

Rey isn't the only one who has passed each day focused on survival instead of living. The First Order is an uncaring war machine ready to strip a person to the core in search of interchangeable parts. Life ranks below duty and obeisance; blind, unquestioning patriotism is the fuel of the entire operation.

Total domination has never been his desire. Even a ruling hand with the span of the First Order's reach will inevitably allow things to slip through: rebellion, mayhem, oppression. Under Snoke, Kylo had lacked the freedom to reshape the galactic power so as to avoid such results. Now, that's changed. He's free - just like Rey is free of Jakku.

"You can leave the past behind," he presses, using a more subdued tone than he had after their battle. He'd been riled by her stubbornness, clouded by fading adrenaline; he'd shouted at her to let go. It was an inelegant approach he now regretted. Rey deserved a choice, as he'd once had, though Kylo resolves to abstain from Snoke's recruitment tactics: manipulation, fear. . . they aren't the way.

His hand reaches out tentatively, lightly brushing over the tattoos. "Erase them."

Her arm slinks away. "I don't want them gone." She sounds affronted by his suggestion. "They're a part of me."

His teeth gnash together. Taking up the discarded linens into one fist, Kylo points out the contradiction. "Why hide them then?"

Rey snatches the dangling ends, winding them in her grasp. Kylo refuses to release them until she answers. Deep, golden eyes prod her with a searing glance.

Brown ones stare back at him, outrage reflected there and in her words: "To keep people from looking at me like you are now!" she spits out, viciously tugging the tether. "I don't want anyone's pity!"

Kylo checks his expression as he drops his hold in time with her next yank. Without the tension, her arm flies back and smacks against the wall housing the bunk. She curses in pain and indignation, dropping the wraps. In a fleeting breath, the same hand swings back toward his face, her palm open and ready to leave an impression.

He intercepts her arm effortlessly. A phantom pain jolts through his nose anyway, and his features cringe as if she'd hit him.

Rey tries to escape, but the flare of her hand catches in his insistent grip. She huffs through her nose. "Let go."

He slowly twists his hand so his fingers run along the underside of her forearm. They trail against the sensitive flesh, drawing lines across her palm as he releases her. Just as his fingers are about to fall away, hers curl.

Kylo's eyes flick up from their hands. She seems just as surprised as he is by her reaction. Emboldened by her response, he rubs his thumb over her knuckles. He longs to understand her, how she moves from anger to compassion so fluidly, like a storm giving way to clear skies.

"Why dwell on the past when you could forget it?" he whispers. He isn't certain the question is for her.

Her free hand lifts to follow the gray, diagonal scar from the top of his forehead, across his cheek, and down the column of his throat. Her index finger crooks into his collar, knowing it runs farther than her eyes can see.

"Would you erase them?" she asks quietly. "The evidence of your resilience? Your survival?"

"Battle scars - " His retort is silenced by a single finger against his lips.

"Are what I carry on my arms," she informs him. "I earned them. Fought for them. They may be _ugly_. . ." her voice catches on the word, "but they're mine."

He understands the desire to conceal what others might find unattractive, though the fragile way she says it takes him by surprise.

Carefully, he flips the position of their hands so her palm faces up. Using a finger, he traces the lines druids claim can predict the future. Once, he may have looked for himself in their creases, but he's learned to distrust intangible visions. In the limbo of this moment, he searches for the beat of life and finds it trapped under a thick line of rust, pulsating beneath his touch. To accept her now, he must acknowledge her past.

His head dips, his hungry mouth covering the mark as if he could suck away the venom. Rey hisses, perhaps expecting fangs, but it's his tongue that darts against her skin, not teeth. Lifting away slightly, he glances up at her through his lashes.

"You're beautiful, Rey," he assures her.

Though she remains still in his grasp, he senses her squirm under the praise in his mind, filling his thoughts with echoes of _even like this_?

 _If only I could show you_ , he thinks to himself.

Since their first encounter on Takodana, Kylo has catalogued her features at every opportunity; he runs his eyes over her now - from the tangle of her brown waves, down the center of the deep "V" concealing her breasts, to her lap where her tunic and tabards have bunched. On his return to her eyes, he rakes the rings with a deliberate, heavy gaze.

He answers her unspoken doubt. "Marks and all."

Tears threaten to escape her again, and he can't bear to see her cry because of what he's said. Kylo's large hands move to frame her face, planning to wipe them away. But they never fall. He's left hovering inches from her face with no ready purpose, yet he can't pull away; he's stuck, drawing in the breaths she shares with him.

Their lips come together like the beat of wings - his the broad, solid strokes of a firebird, hers the light, elusive flutters of a skycatcher. Two opposites learning to compensate and compromise, to match and soar together.

Her sigh against his mouth when they pull apart sounds like birdsong.

"Show me."

He's confused until he realizes she heard his earlier thoughts. Her tone is absent of the embarrassment which lances through him; her words are open, inviting. She regards him with the same soft yet challenging gaze she had on the lift to Snoke's throne room.

"Rey. . ." he chokes out.

She slips her hand into his hair, bringing him back to her lips for another flight.

Maker, give him strength.

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 **Thanks for reading! Things are moving to in an M territory after this, so rating will change.**


	6. Undermined

**Six: Undermined**

It isn't exactly a lack of interest which has kept Rey from seeking something else - _someone_ else. It's the tradeoff she's avoided.

From time-to-time at Niima Outpost, Rey had glimpsed couples exchanging kisses on the loading ramps of merchant ships. Some were short: goodbyes or greetings; others were long, arduous affairs that made her cheeks burn, all while wondering what it would be like to share such an embrace.

The thoughts had been fleeting and few. Jakku was no lovers' destination. Even for the bonded pairs of scavengers who toiled under its blazing sun, their nights were spent guarding valuable salvage or keeping alert for other troubles.

Partners on Jakku undermined their own survival. There was another mouth to feed, and scavengers got sloppy when they believed another set of eyes would catch the danger. It's why Rey had chosen to remain alone: she was the only person she trusted to watch her back.

Up until now, that is.

Kylo had held her life in his hands and spared it, fought on behalf of it, begged her to share it. Maybe she can't give everything to him - _not yet_ \- but she can give him this: in the shelter of the shuttle, drifting outside the conflict, they can be together.

Still pressed against his lips, Rey begins to do what he asked of her in the throne room: let go.

As she relaxes, her body reclines. Her back lowers to the cot in slow motion, the hand buried in his tousled hair ensuring he follows her descent. Kylo curves awkwardly, still sitting beside her, running his tongue against the roof of her mouth when she opens it. A firm hand cups the back of her neck, trying to get the angle right. She hums contentedly just as her head bumps against the cot, jarring their union.

"Kriff," he swears, resting his forehead against hers until the pain in his broken nose passes. Rey's mouth takes the opportunity to apologize, nuzzling kisses up and down his jawline.

After a moment, Kylo pulls back to peer down at her. She traces his eyes in her mind, longing to sketch them, though charcoal and parchment could never capture the brilliance of his liquid amber eyes or the way they ripple with desire as he gazes at her.

Her memory will have to do.

She unhooks the clasps securing his vest, sliding her hands inside to crest over his shoulders, pushing the garment down and away. She's comforted by how he trembles, how his back quivers when she claws his shirt and drags it over his head, baring his torso. She tosses the clothing to the floor, aiming to fling his trousers there next.

Kylo has other ideas. He sweeps her hands away, though her fingertips manage to flick over the rigid swell outlined in the black fabric. His eyes crease shut as he sucks in a sharp breath.

"Not yet." It's both a warning and a plea.

Rey licks her lips, but nods. Her skin itches, restless in a way she's never experienced.

Her impatient hands fall to her own garments, unclipping the fasteners on her belt and letting the leathers fall away. They are all that hold her outer items in place, and she slips out of them effortlessly. Her shirt joins his on the floor. Before she can remove her breastband, Kylo stills her hands, enfolding them in one of his own.

This time his instructions are a growl: "Slow down."

She finally hears what his body has been communicating all along. She coasts to a stop, breath ragged. "Have you. . .?"

The node on his throat bobs. He glances away.

It's the only confirmation she needs. "Neither have I."

He cracks; the smile opens like a fissure through rock as his awed eyes meet hers again. "You had me fooled."

In a fluid motion, Kylo swings fully onto the mattress, nudging his way between her legs with his knees. Rey clamps her thighs against his slim hips. She holds him there, part defense and part desire. If she wanted, she could flip him to his back with ease.

His broad shoulders dwarf her beneath their expanse. A shiver of nervousness strokes her side. Kylo's mouth creates a path of heat in its wake, chasing the fear across her chest, over her collarbone, and up her throat until it releases from her lips on a soft gasp. His are there to capture it, to steal it away with tender reassurance.

He caresses the tattoos on her arms, then lets his featherlight fingers meander their way down. Rey twitches with shockwaves as he passes over her bound breasts, counts the ridges of her ribs, and finally threads his thick fingers between her lower garments and her skin. Her cropped pants and underwear slide from her body, though Kylo has to remove her boots before everything is free.

As he turns back to her, Rey plants one bare foot against his chest, a determined set to her lips. "You too."

His eyes light with humor, pressing a kiss against her calf. "Fair is fair."

Rey drinks in the undressing, watching how his muscles stretch and strain. If Kylo oozes power while fully clothed, he radiates it naked. His towering body is a honed weapon, marred by use but still beautifully lethal. Rey's gaze commits every curve to memory, leaving his most intimidating feature for last.

It's large, like the rest of him.

The space between her thighs throbs with anticipation. She wonders if he can feel it through their bond, or if it's something else that makes his eyes go dark.

When he sinks down onto the thin mattress, her legs fall open to welcome him. Kylo ignores her growing need, running his hands up her stomach and palming her breasts through the band - the only remaining barrier between them.

A whine sneaks out as he teases her, touching her everywhere except where she wants to feel him most. She aches from a void begging to be filled.

He twirls a tendril of hair framing her face. "I don't want to hurt you, Rey."

Her eyes flit over his. They're so close she can see flecks of ochre in his amber irises; they're filled with sincerity and something deeper, something fragile. She sees it unfurl like a tiny bloom nestled among thorns.

An unwelcome certainty pricks behind the veil of her eyes. _It's too late for that_.

* * *

 **Originally, this fic was smut free.  
** **Funny how things happen.  
Thanks for reading!**


	7. Surrender

**Very strong M coming up. Then one more chapter.**

* * *

 **Seven: Surrender**

Rey feeds him a lie and a truth with only a breath in between: "I'm not afraid. I trust you."

His lips skim the furrows of worry etched across her brow. Unlike the lines on her arms, these marks melt away beneath his mouth as she extends her trust like an open palm. Every cell within him shakes as he accepts the delicate gift, fearful that he will damage it unintentionally, knowing he could break it with one wrong move.

His cock aches with the swell of blood. When it grinds against the soft skin of her inner thigh, they groan in unison.

Around them, the air billows with energy. It teems with vibrant light, shimmering around the act of propagation - the most ancient ritual of creation. Kylo has never felt so awash with the Force. That he and Rey generate such power on their own fills his mind with heady daydreams.

While he's caught in cosmic possibilities, Rey's base desires take the lead. She closes her hand around him; the cool touch against his heated skin yanks him back to the present moment. He tries to escape by leaning back on his heels, but Rey refuses to concede his freedom.

Her fingertips just overlap as she curls them around his shaft. "You're so big."

Kylo bucks into her careful hold, croaking, "Rey - "

He had been prepared to see fear in her eyes when she saw him, all of him, but her regard is full of admiration and hunger. She alters her grip, pumping him in a firm way that is nearly his undoing.

Through the fog of his growing desire, he reaches for her. She's slick and warm on his finger. His touch elicits a sound that's part gasp, part cry, and she drops her hand to claw at the sheets.

The sight of Rey beneath him is balm for the neglect: with her hair splayed against the mattress, eyelids hooded, mouth parted, and legs spread, she is more than he ever dared to dream of.

She isn't an ethereal goddess to which poets and lovers dedicate cantos. Her skin bleeds and bruises; her hands are calloused and strong; her throat growls what she can't articulate. She is no enchantress, yet she has bewitched him.

Slowly, he runs his fingers along her again, spreading her wetness. Rey cants her hips, circling in the opposite direction of his movements, then grunts, frustrated.

He'd smile except he senses he's doing something wrong. "What - ?"

Rey cuts him off, snaking her hand down her toned belly to join his. "Like this."

She guides him to her most sensitive spot and increases the pressure of his touch, rolling her hips to test the new angle. Kylo repeats the pattern she shows him and is rewarded with a smile and a breathless, "Yes, just like that."

As he follows her directive, unerring in its execution, her breathing becomes increasingly unstable. Deep inhalations are punctuated with short pants; there are moments he isn't sure she's breathing at all.

It's at such a pause when he inserts his middle finger, pushing until his knuckles rub against her folds. Rey arcs off the mattress with her head thrown back, a soundless moan wailing in his mind. Her hips move restlessly against him, and Kylo's unoccupied hand soothes her with a promise of more.

He may lack experience, but he knows she needs this before they can go any further. She's still too tight, too unprepared for what's to come. Mindfully, he adds his index finger, rotating the two digits to stroke her inner walls, stretching her.

" _Kriff,_ " she swears. With his body out of reach, she gropes the fabric of her breastband.

Kylo watches as she wrestles herself free while using his thumb to rub her swollen clit and curling his fingers inside of her. Rey's nipples are rosy beads, their color matching the deep pink hue of her lips. She plucks at them, pinching and fondling with no predictable pattern, but in a way that makes her bite down on her bottom lip.

Refocusing his attention, Kylo splits his fingers, then begins to test the tip of a third. He makes it just past the rim of her opening when Rey cries out, clenching around him. Shock, pleasure - they mingle in his chest as they radiate through her body.

She's finally ready.

A whimper protests his withdrawal. Kylo strokes himself a few times to spread the pearled precum over his length before grasping her hips and shifting them both into a better position.

When his head rubs against her, it's no longer a surprise that her response is to inch forward. Rey rocks back and forth, taking him in little by little. He scrapes his teeth along the column of her throat, trying to warn her go slow, trying to tell her how desperately he needs to go faster.

At one point, he feels stuck, barred from going any further though he's only halfway in. Kylo draws back slightly, dragging an audible moan from her lips, before he pushes forward and past the internal barrier.

Everything goes still.

"Ben."

The stars could fall from the sky and all he would know is the whisper of his name drifting from her lips. He's lost in the haze of light surrounding them, in the searing heat which engulfs him as he feels the rapid rise and fall of her chest against his, as he maps the hard lines and soft curves of her body.

 _Exquisite_. _Every inch_.

" _Ben_. . _._ "

At her behest, he begins to move. She laments each loss and sings with each return. Kylo rocks into her with as much measured grace as he can, but he picks up the pace too quickly.

A flat palm pushes against his chest as she cringes. "Too much."

He slips from her completely, panicked and mumbling incoherent apologies against her neck, fighting the dark thoughts invading his mind: she was wrong to trust him; he knew it in his bones.

Rey tilts his chin up, brushing tender kisses on his cheeks while her knees squeeze in an unspoken instruction. He tilts to the left, sliding beneath her, watching the pain in her eyes fade back to unquenched desire.

"I never said stop," she says, forgiving him with a smile.

Before he can respond, she's taken him in hand and aligned him with her entrance. Once she's found her seat, she places her hands on his shoulders, supporting herself as she grinds down and against him. Kylo's breathing stutters at the image. His hands grip her sides, steadying her as she undulates at her own pace.

When her movements become sporadic and she flutters around him, Kylo uses his thumb to stroke the spot she showed him before. It makes her spasm and collapse, burying her head in the crook of his neck as she calls out his name.

Fingers threaded through her hair, he holds her against him, thrusting up until he shatters and joins her in oblivion.


	8. Escape

**It's been a pleasure sharing this story with you all. Here is the final chapter.**

* * *

 **Eight: Escape**

Her first coherent thought is that the shiny, reflective panels of the shuttle are doling out judgments.

 _You've strayed,_ they whisper. _Forsaken your friends. Is it so easy to turn from the light?_

Rey tries to dispel the unwelcome thoughts, but her enemy's ship keeps underscoring its point. Shadows pool in the space created by their bodies curved against the harsh, fluorescent bulbs which chase away the rosy glow feebly clinging to the air above them. The light chills her in spite of the heat emanating from the man resting by her side.

Ben. She's called him that half a dozen times now, yet it still startles him to hear a dead man's name. Every utterance invokes the ghosts which haunt Kylo Ren - the past, the light, the man he was. They're apparitions that heed her beckoning.

At least, they _had_.

Rey stares at the scar running along his collarbone, following the twisted, knotted skin instead of meeting his eyes. She wonders if they're closed or if they chart the cabin with the same restless indecision that keeps hers open.

Her body yearns for sleep, every muscle overtaxed. In the span of an hour or so, she'd been tortured at Snoke's hands, fought against formidable Praetorian guards, been knocked unconscious - twice - and wrapped herself around him in blinding intimacy. She needs rest.

But sleep requires comfort - a luxury she does not possess.

From the cockpit, a notification trills. The sound echoes through the sterile cabin, louder than it has any right to be. His fingers twitch, scraping against her scalp and tickling her lower back like they wish to pull her closer. They don't.

"It could be a malfunction," Rey mumbles, her own fingers stroking a line down the center of his chest once, then again.

"You know it's not." His voice is soft.

She doesn't have many hopes left to dash at the rate she's burning through them. Now she can't even have this: one quiet moment, untainted by war and power.

She hates it, all of it: the endless, senseless conflict she foresees stretching across years. If the Force desires balance, where is it? Among all the death and destruction, where is the life? The beauty? She wants flowers, but all she's been offered is the metal of a lightsaber and the leather of a gloved hand.

The trilling continues, more threat than mere annoyance.

Rey rolls away, perching on the edge of the mattress and taking stock of her discomforts, the tender places that make her twinge. She smells him all around her, _on_ her, and knows the memory of him will linger in between her legs for days, in her thoughts for even longer.

 _It isn't fair_ , she thinks.

Kylo follows her lead, sitting beside her. "I didn't remember the tracker soon enough."

As much appeal as the idea holds, deserting isn't an option. She has a promise to uphold, duties to carry out, people to return to; she can't stay.

At her silence, Kylo rises, stepping over their discarded clothing and unabashedly striding toward the cockpit. The shameless display spreads a remnant of heat through her veins. Lacking the same confidence, Rey takes the time to collect her things, donning her garments with practiced efficiency despite how much her muscles protest the movements.

By the time she steps around the crumpled droid and enters the cockpit - arm bands dangling from one hand as she adjusts the obi at her waist - he still hasn't addressed the blinking notification. Rey considers him from behind as she begins wrapping her arms: he cuts an imposing figure set against a backdrop of stars and battle dust, flashes of red from the control board highlighting his bare skin.

There's only one chance left to make her entreaty: "Come with me, Ben."

He peers over his shoulder, eyes cast down at the floor, thinking while the incessant noise fills the silence. Then he presses the transmitter and says, "Go ahead."

After a beat, an uneasy voice returns, "Lord Ren. . .General Hux is requesting your location."

Without pause, he holds down the button again. "Tell Hux I'll rejoin him on the _Finalizer."_

The room spins as Rey realizes the man she sought is buried in the rubble of the _Supremacy_ , only leaving traces of his former identity - behind his eyes, on his lips - that give her nothing to grasp. She swallows a hard truth: it isn't within her power to resurrect Ben Solo.

Another communication comes across: "How many are on board?"

The question hangs in the air.

"What will you do?" she asks.

He turns and catches her mid-twine, unexpectedly taking over the task. "You wouldn't have to cover them up," Kylo tells her. "No one would dare to see you as less. They'd answer to me."

Her heart thuds like a caged avian - rattling the bars with quick beats, unable to escape. His offer from the throne room stands, but what would that make her? His queen? His pupil?

 _A traitor_ , a chiding voice declares from deep within her.

She rests her forehead against his chest and inhales courage. "I can't."

"Lord Ren?" the technician prompts.

It goes ignored.

Rey contemplates her failures: her quest to secure Luke's aid for the Resistance, her attempt to guide Ben back to the light, her struggle to pull the lightsaber across the throne room. She needs a victory. _If I could gain control of the ship, maybe -_

He cuts off her thoughts. "This isn't going to go the way you want it to."

The words murmured against the crown of her head are familiar, unsettling. Luke had told her much the same thing before she flew the _Falcon_ toward Snoke's ship.

"I'm not going with you," she says firmly.

His grip on her arms tightens, and she steps back, fear rising in her chest. Would he take her prisoner?

 _You were just considering it_ , her mind points out.

Well, she won't go without a fight, if that's his intention. Using the Force, she summons the stun blaster from the droid's mangled remains with ease.

Hard, pained eyes fall to the impromptu weapon. His finger inches for the transmitter. "Rey - "

She panics. Her head screams treachery; her heart shudders, divided. She can't risk it.

The shot hits him in his solar plexus and he collapses to his knees before tipping over on the grating. The bolt is too weak to knock him out, but he's dazed enough that she can safely step over his body to arrange a quick escape with Chewie. While giving the Wookiee her coordinates, she notices the broken saber on the pilot's seat and picks it up, reclaiming it as her own.

She dashes to one of the cylindrical pods just as the _Falcon_ appears from hyperspace and Kylo groans to a stand. He finally looks at her through his disheveled hair, and their eyes lock for the first time since their union.

She sees it all: the anger, the hurt, the betrayal. At another time, she would have been scared, intimidated by the intensity of his stare. Now, all she senses is resolve in her decision not to trust Kylo Ren.

As if to demonstrate her point, he grinds his knuckle into the transmitter. Feedback crackles as the receiver awaits his words. Rey stops breathing, hands frozen on the pod's lid above her head.

"I'm alone." His hushed words shout across the space between them. "The girl escaped."

And so she did.

* * *

 **I always meant for this story to circle back to canon, so here we are, staring down the angst of Crait once more.  
Thank you for reading!  
Shameless plug: I've posted a new story called "Lessons in Healing." More hurt/comfort and angst, but a happier ending.**


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